


we're a fucked up bunch (thank god you have me)

by friolento



Series: bad things happen bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soup, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Stark is a good boyfriend, War, weird pov changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friolento/pseuds/friolento
Summary: Steve’s missions don’t always go so well. Tony’s there to help him.tw: PTSD and nightmares(written for the bad things happen bingo 2019, prompt: tearful smile)





	we're a fucked up bunch (thank god you have me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was written for the bad things happen bingo. TRIGGER WARNING: Steve is in a bad place for sure and has some kinda vivid memories of war and gore along with nightmares. I didn't tag it as graphic depictions of violence bc it's not that graphic, but you've been warned. IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU, DO NOT READ IT. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.

Sometimes Steve's missions don't go so great. Some things that he's seen will haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. Such is the life of a soldier; it had been like this in the 40s too. Soldiers woke to scream from night terrors in the barracks, and stared blankly, unseeing, reliving horrors in the mess hall. Officers then had called it shellshock and simply cowardice. Thankfully, mental health awareness had grown from the fledgling state it once was, but it certainly didn't make it easier for Steve accept.

There were times when Steve couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed or eat anything, even when it felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself. Times when he just _could not get warm_ , even under dozens of blankets. When flashes of red would remind him of wading through blood, shooting soldier after soldier down for his country, killing another country's men to save his own. Loud noises sounded like gunshots and bombs. Flying objects, whether it be a ball or a crumpled napkin, reminded him of dirt and gore flying through the air when diving into trenches after another blitz. The repetitive cycle of another man lost, shoot him, turn around and hit the guys creeping up behind him, and then doing it, again and again, would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Days like this have slowed down since he woke from the ice. The SHIELD issued therapist, and then the therapist that Tony hired, was the best money could buy, and when he moved into the tower, she became accessible to all the Avengers as some missions there might've been no injuries, but no-one walked out unscathed. The days where there was nothing to do but relive the memories, all the opportunities lost, every soldier that could've been saved.

The days happened for each Avenger, even if they were different per person.

Natasha relieved all the blood on her hands and locked herself in the gun range or the dance studio for hours on end, not coming down to eat, and certainly not sleeping, working away the red in her ledger.

Clint would shoot arrows on the range and then sit in his room. Nobody knew what he did, except for maybe Natasha.

Thor would visit Jane or spar with whoever was available, training to fight better, work better, _be_ better.

Bruce would meditate or do yoga. If there was one thing he learned on the run, it was that control was key.

Tony would lock himself in his workshop, building things to save lives, improve lives, make things better for every life that he had snuffed out. The days had been nicknamed one of _those_ days. Today was looking like one of _those_ days for Steve.

When Steve had woken up, he had known it was bad. He usually snapped to attention fairly quickly (side-effects of the Army), but he had woken sluggishly, Tony’s warm body not curled up next to him. He must not have come up from the workshop last night, and it wouldn’t have been the first time. He blinked blearily. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning Captain Rogers, it is 8:21 AM, January 25, 2019, you are in the penthouse of Avengers Tower. The temperature is 22° Fahrenheit. Would you like a summary of the news for this morning?"

Steve coughed and sat up. Another sign of a bad day. “I’m alright Jarv, thanks. Is Tony awake?”

JARVIS hesitated before responding, "He is not Captain, he fell unconscious at 12:23 AM. Shall I wake him for you?"

"No, I'm fine." Steve's eyes were just so heavy. He was tempted to just go back to sleep. Natasha and Clint were in Peru for covert ops, Thor was off-world, and Bruce was likely still asleep after his lab bender the night before, so there was nobody he had to be awake for. Granted, the team wouldn't have cared if he didn't come down to eat breakfast together like they normally did if he wasn't feeling well but Steve tried to be there as often as possible.

"Captain Rogers, I strongly suggest you allow me to wake Sir. All the signs point towards a depressive episode, and I can assure you Sir will not mind." The British AI sounded remarkably concerned.

“I said I’m _fine_ , JARVIS.”

JARVIS let out a sound like a sigh if a computer could sigh. "If you insist Captain."

Steve gave up on trying to get out of bed. Another hour of sleep couldn't hurt, right? Besides Bruce wouldn't get out of bed for the rest of the day, and Tony would probably stay in the workshop. _Of course_ , the nasty little part in the back of his brain started, _why would he spend time with a fuckup like you?_ Steve's lips pressed together, and he forcibly shoved the thoughts away, even though he failed spectacularly. He fell backward into the soft cocoon of blankets. He was still cold. "JARVIS? Could you raise the temperature in here?"

JARVIS obligingly raised the temperature a couple of degrees. God, Steve was still so cold. He burrowed underneath the blankets, teeth chattering, and arms curled tight around his chest. He fell into a restless slumber, dreams of Tony crumpling from a doombot, the flashy - beautiful - suit destroyed and marred with scratches and dirt, Tony's beautiful eyes not opening after the wormhole, Bucky falling from the train, and worst of all, Tony and Bucky berating him and yelling vitriol for not being enough. _Lord_ , he just wanted to _be_ enough. He wondered what the little guy back in Brooklyn and his mother would have thought of him now, huddled under his covers like a child. _Pathetic_.

…

Tony really hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the workshop. He had meant to come up and fall asleep in his warm bed, Steve protectively curled around him like always, but the schematics for Clint’s newest arrows were just so tempting, and one thing had spiraled into another until he had passed out, face-down on the parts of his left gauntlet.

"Ow," he muttered. Not exactly his brightest decision, but hey, he's done stupider. He gingerly sat up and poked at his forehead. He didn't think there would be bruises, but one could never be sure until a couple hours passed. "J?"

"It is 9:03 AM Sir.  Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff are currently in Peru on a mission for SHIELD, Doctor Banner is resting in his quarters, and Mr. Odinson is currently off-world. Captain Rogers-" JARVIS hesitated. "He is asleep in your rooms."

Tony blinked, surprised and mildly concerned. "Still?" Sleeping in this late was not typical Steve behavior. He woke up at 6 every morning religiously for his run and was usually cooking up breakfast for the team by 8:30. "Is he alright?"

"I am not at liberty to say, Sir. He has specifically forbidden me from saying. However, I do believe you should check on him."

Tony started and hurried towards the elevator. Usually, if Steve was still asleep it was _not_ going to be a good day. He tapped his foot anxiously in the elevator as it sent him up to the penthouse, JARVIS being intuitive enough to know where he wanted to go in lieu of a verbal response. As soon as the elevators opened, Tony was spilling out rushing to their bedroom. He opened the door a crack. “Steve?” Steve didn’t stir.

Tony cautiously walked forward and settled on the edge of the bed. "Steve? Honey? Are you...alright?"

Steve stirred. His eyes blinked open sluggishly and he stared up at him. “Tony?” he croaked. His eyes were wet and sad, though Steve obviously tried to smile through his tears, lips wobbling and face crumpling.

Tony grimaced and tried to keep the sadness and mild anger at the world, not Steve, _never_ Steve, off his face. Definitely one of _those_ days. “Hey, love.” He made to lay down on the bed, Steve obligingly moving over. His heart clenched at the state Steve was in. PTSD was a bitch. “C’mere hon.”

Steve rolled over so he was half on top of him and pressed his face into Tony's stomach. Tony let out a sigh and started running his fingers through Steve's hair. He ignored the fact that his shirt was getting wet with Steve's tears and kept tugging through the knots in Steve's golden hair.

He hated when Steve got like this. He didn’t deserve it, none of them deserved it. The world had a sick sense of humor.

The two lied in bed for the next couple hours, Tony shifting so that they were both laying down, Steve cocooned safely in Tony's arms. Unfortunately, he couldn't protect Steve from his own mind, as Steve occasionally thrashed and sobbed in his dreams, needing Tony to restrain him with the gauntlets to keep him from hurting himself or Tony. Occasionally Steve would wake up and simply stare at the ceiling without responding to Tony's concerned voice.

Around 1 PM, Tony shifted slightly away to go get them both something to eat, Steve’s arms releasing him quickly, the supersoldier’s face sad, but...resigned? His eyelashes were wet, and the sight of his red and puffy face made Tony’s heart hurt. “S-sorry, ‘m so sorry, you’re probably busy I shouldn’t hog your time like this, I’m so-” speaking to him for the first time in several hours. Tony’s heart sunk at how Steve’s first words to him since he had arrived were apologies.

"Steve, darling," Tony interrupted. "Making sure you're okay will always be my top concern. Everything else short of a world-threatening emergency can wait."

Steve huffed, ever stubborn. “Bu-”

Tony covered his mouth gently with his own hand, careful to keep any annoyance out of his voice if Steve believed that any irritation or anger was directed at him. "I _love_ you.”

Steve’s head ducked. “Love you too,” he mumbled against his hand.

Tony gave him a smug smile. “I know. I’m hungry, and with that supersoldier metabolism-” he poked Steve in the middle of his forehead, Steve smiling reluctantly at that, albeit tired and sad, “you must be too, even if you don’t _feel_ like eating.”

Steve frowned and tried, “I don-”

Tony hushed him. “You’re eating a little, at least 5 spoons of soup.”

Steve sighed and flopped backward, his mood lifting the slightest bit. He still saw Bucky falling from the train every time he closed his eyes, but Tony helped. More than others at least. "Normal-sized spoons Tones. No ridiculously large spoons the size of Hulk to get me to eat more."

Tony's face softened. "Yeah, babe." He slid off their ginormous bed and turned back to see Steve face-down on the pillows. "Is tomato soup okay?"

Steve mumbled...something, into the pillow his face was mushed in. Tony snickered and took it as affirmation. After all, who doesn't like tomato soup? Tony went to the kitchen on their floor, no point in going down to the common kitchen, and dug out the container of tomato soup from the night before to reheat it on the stove. Meanwhile, he dug out some bread and cheese to make grilled cheese, because, duh, holy pairing.

After the soup was heated up to his satisfaction, he poured some into two bowls and plated the sandwiches and hurried back to their bedroom.

Steve was still facedown on the bed, but he wasn’t crying or staring catatonically at the ceiling, so Tony counted it as a win. He sat up, however, when Tony strode in and scooched over.

The two ate soup in silence, before Steve interrupted, voice raw and hoarse but still warm. “Thank you.”

Tony smiled. He had no doubt that there would be many more of these days to come, but they would face it together as they always had. And when Steve was ready, Tony would uncover the velvet black box that Tony had hidden in the workshop. "You're welcome."

~~(Of course, because if anyone deserves a happy ending it's them, Steve said yes.)~~

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr! 
> 
> https://thehelloimmawitchbitch.tumblr.com/


End file.
